


Drive

by orphan_account



Category: Lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a post-series ficlet. Title's a reference to "Drive" by Halsey, if you feel like crying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buffysummers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buffysummers/gifts).



After the life she had lived– all the _lives_ she had lived– she could survive anything. That much was accepted; objects in motion, and all. Kate had never been big on school, but even she remembered how it went: they kept moving until something stopped them. Running had all she had really ever been good for, and no matter the circumstances, Kate couldn’t change that. **  
**

She didn’t have a reason anymore, but you know what they say about old habits.  
_A tiger don’t change its stripes_.  
She didn’t have a reason anymore, but Albuquerque was 660 miles from the beach, and she hadn’t slept in the past four years.

They just left.  
They did that sometimes.    
They didn’t have reasons anymore, but it was nice to have company.  
They didn’t talk, just drove. Checked into a motel she could have bought if she’d wanted.

They went through the motions. They were good at that. They had dinner, because they had to eat. Bought a change of clothes, because they hadn’t stopped to pack. When taken for a couple, they played along, because they’d disappear in a day and it was easier than the truth.

Then again, what wasn’t?  
_Don’t we deserve something good_?

They shared a bed.  
They did that sometimes.  
There was no one else.

This is how it went: two rooms, four keys, just in case.  
One of them, usually Sawyer, would find a reason to visit.  
“Damn doors hardly lock,” he said this time.  
Kate jerked her head toward the gun on her nightstand– _I can take care of myself_ – but didn’t argue.  
He would fall asleep, and then they would talk.

Sometimes it seemed like Kate was only honest with no one there to hear her.  
No one but the ghosts, at least.

Their routine was the closest thing to a home she had.  
She told him as much, or tried to. It amounted to “thanks”.  
(Thank you for staying. Thank you for letting me want to.)

He’d said to her once that maybe some people were meant to be alone.  
One outcast to another, then: it was lucky they had such a knack for being alone together.


End file.
